


no future

by no_reservations



Series: a slow corruption [4]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 04:38:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1674938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/no_reservations/pseuds/no_reservations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> </p><p>Harry finds himself slipping. And slip long enough and at some point there is nowhere left to fall.</p><p> </p>
            </blockquote>





	no future

 

 

 

Sirens were screaming outside, their blue light making broken glass shine as it crunched underneath his feet. He briefly wondered how it had come to this, how it all got so fucked up. But the weight of the gun was steady in his hands.

 

◊

 

Bang.

 

The recoil of the shotgun smarted against his shoulder. But he paid it no mind, perhaps in some way even welcoming it. Because it was real, this pain was real. He trained his eyes on the target and squeezed the trigger again – another deafening explosion, another kickback, and a hole in the very center. He smirked to himself.

 

"Nice shot Harry!" the instructor called out, and he placed his shotgun safely on the counter before turning around. The man gave him a grin and he smiled back at him, glad to have gotten this opportunity. Because it had been somewhat of a struggle to get here. His mum had been appalled to say the least when he had suggested it, going on about school shootings and how she'd never allow a gun in the house, but he'd countered with promises of getting his grades up in exchange. He'd kept his end of the bargain so she'd eventually relented and signed the parental consent.

 

So here he was, at his weekly gun-safety class, the highlight of his week. He nodded as the instructor took the shotgun and traded him up for a handgun. He replaced his earmuffs and took it in his hand, feeling it cold and heavy in his grip. He checked the safety and slid the ammo in just like he'd been taught, before gripping it carefully with both hands and raising it up towards the target.

 

A flick off the safety and a light squeeze and there it was again, kicking back, the jolt against his joints, just for him. So much power in such a little thing. Another smirk pulled at his lips as he pulled out a flurry of shots. It wasn't a release, not really, for each shot just made him more tense. But it was almost enough, almost enough to make him forget...

 

 

It had been another hollow flow of empty weeks since the last time. The last time he'd seen them. Enough to make him question the whole thing. That perhaps it hadn't even happened at all, that perhaps it was all just a fucked-up concoction in his own mind. Plus the fact that their encounters always tended to be soaked in drugs and alcohol didn't help. Like a half-remembered dream. Or nightmare. He'd wake up the next morning in a daze, going along his usual routine while he tried to digest the whole thing.

 

And slowly the night before would trickle down while he was pouring his cereal or sorting his dirty laundry or trying to concentrate on his homework. A flash here and a flash there, and after a few days of urban monotony it all started to feel unreal. Like his brain was staging a desperate form of entertainment because his life was just that dull.

 

Because dull it was. An endless monotone of getting up at an ungodly hour to catch the bus, followed by classes taught by teachers who'd either long ago burnt out or gone insane – a list of assignments, another long ride home, homework, sleep, and repeat.

 

And all the while, visions swam before his mind, always at the most inappropriate of times... like when he was in the middle of class, trying to pay attention to things that would only retain importance for the quiz of the week – a knife in his hand, slicing at pale skin, watching the blood flow; a cock in his mouth as he laid bound, tearing at his restraints; the rush of a speed-ball coursing through him, making him feel things with an intensity he'd never thought possible.

 

The memories sent a thrill through him and more often than not made him laugh out loud when he really shouldn't be, like when he was in the middle of another dull lecture and his teacher was outlining their presentation assignments. More than once he'd found the whole class turn to stare at him, but it had only had made him laugh harder. If they had any idea.

 

And then there had been that Sunday...

 

 

Harry squeezed off another few rounds, before placing the gun onto the counter to reload.

 

 

In an effort to placate his mum after his questionable outings, he'd volunteered to accompany her to the church's fundraiser. She was deeply entrenched in the church's community for whatever reason, it wasn't like she was that religious after all. Maybe it was more of a small town thing; need to belong and whatnot. So she was always asking him to join her but he'd always done his best to find a viable excuse. Nothing worse than getting up unreasonably early on a day off just to be guilt-tripped by some dude in the name of God. He'd always found it hard to keep the condescending smirk off his face as the preacher droned on with the fury of hellfire and everlasting damnation. These days he felt like a vampire every time he entered a church, half-surprised he didn't burst into flames as he passed the doors.

 

Though he usually relented for Christmas just for the sake of tradition and family, and had long ago perfected his falsetto version of silent night while that shitty candle they made them hold dripped down his arm.

 

So he'd gone nonetheless, and it had been a bright and cheery day. Tables stretched out on the perfect lawn before the church, balloons in the air and cookies piled high on lace tablecloths. Everyone seemed to have turned out in their finest, he even spotted a few ridiculous church hats amongst the line-up. He'd pulled at his collar, feeling uncomfortable in his own stiff get-up.

 

"Go and mingle Harry, I'm fine here," his mum had told him with a fond smile, setting out her bake-ware next to a friend of hers.

 

And he'd looked around, silently cursing to himself. Just who was he supposed to mingle with here? He suddenly regretted not sneaking his flask out with him. Even a smoke sounded good right about now.

 

He was scanning the crowd grumbling to himself and checking his cell for the time, when a loud laugh caught his ear. It sounded oddly familiar. Glancing up, his heart might have stopped in his chest for a beat at the sight that met him.

 

For there he was. Dressed up in his Sunday best. Surrounded by four girls that were tugging at him, their laughter echoing across the law. Harry stood transfixed as he watched him, his carefree laughter ringing out in turn, coming to ruffle their hair – the joy in his eyes apparent even at the distance.

 

And Harry's breath came out in a wheeze, unaware that he'd stopped breathing in the first place. For something stopped, his mind somehow unable to process. So he stood frozen in place, continuing to watch as an older woman came up and drew the lad into a hug, their laughter coming to pound in his ears across the lawn.

 

It was... it was, well, perhaps the most cliche hallmark moment of family love that he'd ever seen. Right down to the pretty Sunday dresses of the little girls, and the way they stood there beaming at each other while the fundraiser moved around them.

 

Which made it possibly the most grotesque parody Harry had ever witnessed in his life. Because that boy coming to press a cardboard plate holding a piece of cake into a little girl's hand, had not so long ago pressed something very different into his hand.

 

 

Harry pulled the trigger again, braced for the recoil – only to find the chamber empty.

 

 

To say he was a mess afterwards was perhaps a bit of an understatement. He tried to keep it together for school, to get his shit turned in on time, to pass his tests, but that was about it. It was like a quiet fury burned inside him all the time now, a feeling he couldn't deal with and had no way of willing away. Thoughts whirled in his mind together with emotions he couldn't name – the images of seeing him there, in the real world.

 

He didn't know what he had expected. Truth was, he'd never given it much thought. Just what they did when they weren't pulling heists and doing benders and whatever else they did in that little trailer. That reality had never existed for him. But now that he'd seen it, it tore at something inside of him.

 

That he, fucking Louis, had another life. And one so cliche-fully perfect. What with the adoring sisters and loving mother and whatnot, all completely oblivious to just what their brother and son really was. Something burned in him again as he made his way down the hallway, infuriate by the way he'd been able to play them all. The way he could juggle it so effortlessly while here he was, barely able to hold it in line.

 

For he was teetering, he knew he was. Whatever their little game with him had been, they'd succeeded. Because he no longer was who he'd been. The comforting weight of his switchblade in his pocket told him just as much.

 

And now... what? He felt betrayed? What the fuck? He didn't even know. Maybe the sicko force that had been Louis and Zayn had somehow become like a mythical entity in his mind. Something outside of all of this – this endless monotony of school and passing grades and good colleges and sensible jobs.

 

He wanted to let out a sob as it hit him, his future laid out before him with absurd clarity. The every day, the cubicle, the meaningless tasks entrenched with bureaucratic urgency until it sucked him under, making him believe it really was oh so important after all. Getting paid in compensation for each surrendered moment of his pathetic little life. Tick tick tick.

 

Rage tore through him at the hopelessness of it all. Neither was a path he could take, but where did that leave him? Nowhere... that was all. He wanted to punch at a fucking wall at the impotent fury of it all, making his knuckles throb in pain instead of his mind.

 

"Yo, weirdo. What's up?"

 

Harry turned at the words while still caught in his inner monologue, coming to glare at the boy before him. Just what he needed when he was so on edge. A fucking bully.

 

He stared him down, willing for him to make a move.

 

"Uhh, what have we here? Little man wants a fight?" one of his cronies let out, coming to stand beside him. Another stood to his left, and they all looked ridiculously buff for their age. Must all be part of the jock crew, not that Harry had ever bothered to remember any of their names.

 

He felt his eyes grow empty as he stared back at them, some part of him almost longing for the first move. The boy's cohorts stilled a bit at that, but lead boy was too much in a rush to have it stop him.

 

He advanced instead, and in one swift stroke had him pinned against the wall with an forearm pressed against his throat.

 

"Think I wouldn't find out?" he spat against his face, and Harry turned away from it. "That you fucking touched my girl?"

 

Harry was momentarily confused. He hadn't actually been with a girl since that party forever ago. For he'd been too wrapped up in his own shit-fest of a life since then to give anyone else's much of a bother. So was he really referring to that one? The one he'd had in some little girl's room in the middle of a party? The one that had been so desperate for it?

 

He let out a laugh without meaning to, which only made the arm against his throat push down harder. His laugh turned into a choke.

 

"So you admit it? All the rumors that have been floating around?" The lad was trying for intimidating, towering over him, his bicep muscles flexing as he held him in place. "Fucking answer me!"

 

But Harry just continued to glare at him as he was repeatedly shoved against the wall, too pissed off to be afraid. His knife knocked against his thigh with each push, a comforting weight. A silent promise of just where he could take this.

 

So he smiled instead, watching the confusion edge itself into the boy's brow. It obviously wasn't the reaction he'd been expecting.

 

Letting off a little bit to grab at his shoulders instead, it let Harry catch his breath. He slowly raised his head, smirking at the boy before letting out, "Oh yes, yes I did. And you should have heard her. She was begging for..."

 

A fist connected with his face, making his head snap back and knock against the locker with a clang. His skull pounded with the echo of it, shooting a rush of adrenaline though his body. But he just reached a shaky hand up and wiped at the corner of his mouth, finding it to come back bloody. The jock just stared back at him, looking a little thrown. Harry let out a chuckle, and the boy narrowed his eyes, tensing up to throw another punch.

 

"Liam, stop!" one of his buddies called out, but Harry was quicker.

 

Before Liam knew it, he was pressed up against the wall, a knife at his throat.

 

"How about we forget all about this," he whispered at him, "That happened, this happened... lets agree for a blank slate, okay?"

 

Liam swallowed, his Adam's apple scratching against his blade. And Harry continued to hold it in place as he watched his eyes. Bravado was quickly being replaced by something else.... fright, and Harry wanted to laugh out loud. Little puppy.

 

"Well?" he pressed, the hand not holding the blade coming to claw into his shoulder.

 

"What the fuck dude!" one of his gang finally spoke up, snapping out of their daze.

 

Harry met his gaze, before looking back at Liam. "I think Liam here would kindly request you two to scatter. Without notifying security of course. Don't you?" he looked at the boy underneath his knife.

 

Liam gave him a furious look before glancing at his friends. "As he said," he ground out. They gave him a long look, eyes glued to the knife at their friend's throat before reluctantly turning away, cursing under their breath.

 

"So, that all cleared up, where were we?" Harry found himself smirking down at the jock in his grasp. "Oh yes, forgetting about me fucking your girlfriend senseless and you punching me on campus and of course, me holding a knife to your stupid thick throat. Guess that makes us even, doesn't it?"

 

Harry watched as the boy nodded, and a curious sort of jolt shot through him. What the fuck am I doing? some part of himself whispered. But at the same time he was reveling in it. The daring, the confrontation, the trespass. He hadn't felt this alive in days... it was giving him a thrill like nothing else.

 

 

Harry was suspended for two weeks. Figured word would get out. Probably his little bodyguards had run right to the principal's office. Bloody fuckers.

 

So he sat at home, while his mum went to work; of course not before giving him a stern talking to. She was worried, as she had every right to be. What with his new friends, his suspension, his general odd behavior. Downward spiral, and whatnot. Harry sighed to himself as he cracked open his window to light a smoke. Whatever the school system thought of their most severe of punishments, they'd obviously gotten some of their antennas crossed. Punishment in the form of not having to get up at the crack of dawn to sit in class for eight brain numbing hours... right.

 

He took a drag, watching his exhale mingle with the morning fog. It was peaceful, somehow. Like the day awaited, just for his choosing. Do nothing, or do it all. The choice was his.

 

He smirked as he squashed his butt and took a pull from his flask. The liquid burned as it went down.

 

 

Two weeks later, he stood at the entrance of his school in barely laced up shoes and shades on his eyes. He squinted nonetheless, an unpleasant headache gripping his temples in a tight squeeze.

 

He'd sworn off the smokes and booze for his return and hadn't given it much thought, thinking himself stronger than that. But now that he stood there he started questioning this whole addiction thing. It wasn't that he longed for a drag, it was just that he felt like utter shit. And he knew just what could make it better. At least for a little while.

 

Letting out a sigh, he forced himself to make his way. Before him stretched a full load of classes he was way behind in, not to mention the stares and whispers of all his cherished peers. Okay, so maybe a smoke sounded kind of good right about now. So did a little liquid lubricant.

 

The soles of his shoes scraped the asphalt as he made his approach, underscoring his apathy with each drag and shuffle. The sun already seemed to have been turned on to full blast while the doors never seemed to get much closer. He could already make out the kids standing around its frame, just waiting for him to come closer, to scrutinize his every step. His jaw set into a tight clench. Fuck it just fuck it. Head down and get through, his mind silently chanted as he put foot before foot.

 

He stepped off the sidewalk, only to flinch back as a senior paraded his birthday present past the entrance with a loud growl and unnecessary torque, nearly flinging him off its hood. He caught the guy's smirk and the flip of his girlfriend's hair as they passed, and yes, it may have only been 7:15 in the morning, but he was officially done with this day.

 

Finally getting to the front of his crapfest of a school, the entirety of his class seemed to be gathered there to stare back at him. He adjusted his backpack, ready to make an earnest fuck-you-all stride right through the front door when there came an engine rev from behind him. He froze with his sight still on the door while he watched the reaction around him. The girls seemed to be in a flutter, whispering and pointing, while the guys looked a little pissed off. He still didn't dare to turn around.

 

The growl of an engine came again, and he took a few steps towards the door, ready to ignore it, when there came a whistle along with, "Yo, Harry!"

 

He froze again. If his entire class wasn't looking at him before, they surely were now. He sighed as he looked at the doors, before looking at the ground. He could feel their eyes on him. So he shouldered his backpack and reluctantly turned around.

 

And there he stood, freaking Zayn, at the entrance of the school posing like a model against a fucking motorcycle. No wonder the girls were all drooling and the boys looked about ready to piss themselves. Harry's breath might even have stopped beside himself.

 

"Care for a ride?" he called out, and he could all but feel the girls passing out behind him.

 

"Ehmm..." he muttered out.

 

"Come on," he purred out while swinging over the back of his bike. "I'll have you back in time for tea." He grinned while revving the engine again.

 

Harry found his legs carrying him towards the thing despite himself. And before he knew it he was clinging onto the boy's leather jacket as his school sped out of view.

 

 

The wind tore through his hair and the bike vibrated between his legs and he sort of wanted to cry. To think he'd been a step away from spending another day locked in, slowly being conditioned for a lifetime of the same eight hour pace. But no, here he was, grinning to himself as Zayn took another corner perhaps a bit too fast, perhaps a bit too recklessly. He laughed out loud and dropped his forehead against the boy's shoulder, the leather of his jacket cool against his skin and the vibrations along his groin making him horny as fuck.

 

His hands wandered down from the boy's shoulder to his hips, threading his hands through his belt loops to pull himself closer as they took another turn. His cock was already straining against his jeans and he pressed closer against Zayn's ass, letting him feel him.

 

Zayn let out a cackle before him, his laughter vibrating against his chest along with the hum of the engine and he let out a sigh against his shoulder at how good this felt. He ground in closer as the bike hit a bump, jerking him up and he let out a groan. The boy laughed again.

 

Snaking a hand around, he cupped the lad's dick through his jeans and his laughter turned into a gasp of his own. Harry had to smile to himself as he continued to palm him, feeling him starting to harden underneath his hand. There they were, speeding along the road, not bothering to slow down as their arousal built. As he pushed his cock against the boy's ass again, he wondered if he could get his hand inside those jeans without falling off.

 

"Ah fuck, Harry," Zayn let out with a sigh, throwing his head back and making the bike weave on the road. He bit the lad's shoulder as he rubbed harder. "I'm going bloody crash us if you don't stop."

 

Harry only let out a laugh. "I want to suck your cock," he found himself drawling into the boy's ear.

 

"Ah, fuck."

 

 

"So, what's up?" he asked after while he passed back the blunt. They'd pulled into the parking lot by the marina beside the overpass, sitting on the bike as they watched some dude scrub down his boat.

 

"Ahh, same ol' same ol'," Zayn let out with an exhale of smoke, grinning to himself as if he'd just told a clever joke.

 

They sat in silence for a while, watching as a passing yacht made waves lap at the concrete beach.

 

"Why'd you come?" Harry couldn't keep himself from asking eventually as he accepted the joint again.

 

"Because your mouth was on my dick and you've got a clever tongue?" Zayn grinned at him, and Harry let out a chuckle. Okay, he deserved that one. He handed the joint back and the lad took another toke before replying: "Thought you could use a little change of pace. Heard about your little shuffle."

 

He barely managed to hide his surprise at this. How could he have know about him getting expelled? He wanted to ask, but thought better of it.

 

"Sucks, you know. Permanent record and all. Gonna be a bitch now."

 

He only nodded as he took the joint back and let out a slow exhale. Yeah, it really was. Try applying for a scholarship with that on your record. Might as well add in extra-curricular activities - kidnapping, drugs and cock-sucking! A humorless laugh escaped him.

 

"But as they say, a few burnt bridges make for a much nicer boat ride," Zayn glanced at him, a smile playing on his lips.

 

Harry was pretty sure no one had ever actually said that. And he was still pretty sure that Zayn was certifiable in some way or another, and that his taste for mind-altering substances certainly didn't help. But as he watched that poor sucker on his boat waiting for the bridge to raise, he couldn't help but agree. The cars piled up on the overpass as it slowly did, surely filled with a row of disgruntled commuters now late for work.

 

"So where would you rather be?" Zayn spoke beside him. "On that bridge in a hurry to arrive for another day of sitting off your time, or in that boat, making them all wait while you chart your own course?"

 

He let out a laugh, if only it was that easy. "But how did he afford the boat? He's probably only taking time off from his desk job."

 

Zayn let out a chuckle next to him. "Yeah, he probably is, poor sod. But you're taking this much too literally." He scuffed him against the back of his head, nearly knocking him off the bike. "Come one, Louis' got a surprise for you."

 

Harry froze at this, his thoughts running back to the last time he'd seen Louis. At that stupid church banquet. With his mum and sisters.

 

"Oh," he let out as he stepped away from the bike to allow Zayn to get back on.

 

"Yeah. You're going to like this one," he grinned at him again, looking like a wolf about to lead his pack to a secret corral of sheep.

 

 

"Harry love!" He found himself grabbed and kissed on both cheeks, hugged, and kissed on the mouth before he could utter a sound. Louis stood beaming before him, and something inside of him lit up despite himself.

 

"Smoke?" The boy flicked a silver case open and offered its contents up to him. He found himself taking one, and before the filter found its way to his lips a flame was already flicking at its end.

 

He took an inhale to make it catch, and nodded in thanks as gleeful eyes stared back at him.

 

"So I've heard about your little run in, and found this the most fortunate of opportunities," he said while pointing his cigarette at a house.

 

Harry looked around, only now making out just where Zayn had dropped them off. A perfectly manicured lawn met his eyes, leading up to the storyboard picture of a perfect suburban dwelling. Windows and more windows – the kind of house that spoke of a grand entry with a sweeping staircase. 2.5 baths, freestanding kitchen with marble counter tops, a master bedroom with a walk-in closet and space out back to throw a ball for the family dog. How wonderful.

 

"Who does it belong to?" he asked while taking another drag.

 

Louis only nodded at the mailbox in response while making his way. Harry stared at it. 'Payne' it read. It didn't click until he was already at the door. Holy shit, Payne. Liam Payne.

 

He hesitated while Louis motioned to Zayn. The lad made quick work of the lock and they door swung open, and before he knew it they were in.

 

 

They had sex in the master bedroom, on a bed big enough to host an orgy. Zayn had ransacked the walk-in closet, but had eventually settled on wearing a fedora and nothing else. Louis kept going on about how the bathroom had a freaking built-in jacuzzi and how they should test it out while he jumped on the bed. And Harry couldn't stop laughing, feeling high as a kite while being jostled by each bounce.

 

He couldn't help but think how this was the best moment of his life.

 

◊

 

And that's how he found himself, with broken glass under his feet and a gun in his hands. It was just supposed to be a bit of fun, a bit of payback – a few stolen trinkets, nothing major, just enough to rattle the inhabitants a bit out of the complacency of their suburban comfort. And they'd almost gotten away with it hadn't someone decided to test out the chandelier and send it crashing to the ground. Who knew this neighborhood watch thing actually worked?

 

So now here they stood, trapped inside with a bunch of cops stationed out front.

 

"Love," Louis whispered into his ear while his gun remained trained on the door. "Give me your gun."

 

"What?" Harry stammered out, glancing at him, his face hidden behind his ski mask.

 

"You heard me. It's been fun kid, but the road ends here. Hide away in the crawl-way until dawn, the way out back won't be safe. And you can hop back to your mum in the morning like nothing ever happened."

 

"But..." Harry could feel something squeezing at his throat. "You've got a family too," he let out, thinking of those smiling little girls he'd seen on that church lawn. What would happen to their perfect little world if their big brother got thrown into jail? "We can all get out of this," he pleaded as something hammered against the door.

 

"Nah, we're good," Zayn grinned at him beneath his mask. "Run along now," he motioned with his gun. "And don't forget about the boat."

 

Harry stared at them, a bit incredulously. But as the door rattled again he did as he was told. He gave his gun away, one he'd never meant to shoot anyway. But perhaps he would have, for them.

 

The sound of a gunshot echoed as he closed the hatch to the crawl-space and waited for dawn.

 

 

Weeks later he continued the scour the pages for any news of the break-in. It was a small town after all, and such a thing was sure to make the news. But he found no mention of it.

 

He thought of them constantly, Zayn with his crazy grin and a joint dangling from his lips, and Louis. Louis.

 

Had they managed to make it out? Or had they been caught? Sitting in some juvi right now dressed in stupid jump-suits recruiting their next member? Or had they... he'd stopped his mind every time it got to that thought, preferring to picture them dealing smokes like poker chips between a cup of jello and a glob of macaroni and cheese. It made him smile thinking of the image.

 

He'd passed Liam with his cohorts in the hall, but besides a queer look they paid him no mind. He even saw that blonde kid, Niall, as he'd found out, but he shuffled away before he could get a word out. The boy's friends threw him odd glances as he continued to stare at him in the lunch hall.

 

 

"So, besides the obvious set-backs, you've got a good shot of getting in," a burnt-out guidance counselor was telling him. "It's the cheapest alternative, considering your circumstances and since a scholarship is out of the question. But they offer good applicable degrees... vehicle maintenance, transportation, landscaping, carpentry," he continued to go down the list of a pamphlet printed on recycled paper. "All honorable professions that offer good compensation."

 

Harry blinked at him, wondering when driving a truck for a living became a goal to aspire to. And somewhere far off in the back of his mind a voice whispered something of burnt bridges and boats.

 

Maybe he should take some gun classes, he idly thought as he stood up and thanked the man, smiling at him as he made his way.

 

 

 


End file.
